


Spoils

by bea_bickerknife



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: (the two are not mutually exclusive), And Substantially More Obscenities, And a Financial Advisor Rather Than a Courtesan, Basically Just Picture That One Scene from Moulin Rouge, But With a Count, F/M, Larceny (But in a Romantic Way), Rather Than a Duke, Villainous and Fiery Discourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-04-14 10:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14133858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_bickerknife/pseuds/bea_bickerknife
Summary: It's the thought that counts. At least, that's what the Count thought before he met Esmé Squalor.





	Spoils

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I own none of the characters in this work, nor do I derive any remuneration from its posting.

“Well, excuse me for making a gesture, then!” shouted Olaf.

“No,” countered Esmé just as loudly, “excuse _me_ for not being impressed when you decide to risk blowing your cover on a _gesture_!”

“No, excuse _me_ for trying to give you what you want!”

It was the most frequently either of them had ever uttered the words “excuse me,” but neither one cared to notice.

“No.” Esmé’s voice was growing shriller by the second, her black eyes blazing as she stepped closer. “Excuse _me_ for expecting you to do more than fucking _try_!” She shook the morning edition of the Daily Punctilio in his face, jabbing at the photograph on the front page so forcefully that her pointed fingernail tore the paper. “Excuse me for thinking a goddamn _criminal mastermind_ ” – the sneer on her face turned the term into an insult – “should know better than to run a jewel heist without disabling the security cameras!”

“You can’t even see my face in that picture!” Olaf snatched the newspaper out of her hand and slammed it down on the side table by the door. “And I already told you I had the tapes destroyed. Every. Single. Lousy. Copy.”

“That’s not the point!” Esmé shrieked. “The point is – ”

“The **_point_** ,” roared Olaf, reaching the end of his admittedly limited patience, “is that I took time away from _my_ evil scheme to break into the highest-security showroom in the Jewelry District for my girlfriend, but she probably won’t even appreciate the present I got her, because she’s too much of a raging _bitch_!”

The hand Esmé had raised to strike him froze a few centimeters from the stubble on his cheek. For a moment she stood perfectly still, her eyes narrow and her breathing ragged. “You brought me a present?”

“Why else would I rob a jewelry store?”

She stared at him blankly. “For the _money_ , of course.”

“If I wanted money, I’d rob a bank. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Arching one sharply-penciled eyebrow, she glanced first at the newspaper on the table, then back up at him. “Prove it,” she said, and folded her arms over her chest. “Go on. Let’s see what you found for me.”

He reached into the pocket of his leather coat, eyes gleaming. “Turn around.”

“That line didn’t work last night, darling, and I’m _certainly_ not in the mood right now.”

“Would you at least close your eyes?” he sighed, not bothering to point out that last night it had been _bend over_ , not _turn around_. “I mean, if you’re not going to be grateful, the least you can do is be surprised.”

“Oh, _fine_.” She closed her eyes, sensing movement behind her. “But I swear to God, Olaf, if you so much as… _oh_.”

Strapless sundresses had been declared _in_ just that morning, and Esmé shivered at the sensation of something cold and heavy draping delicately over the exposed skin of her neck and chest. Then Olaf’s hands clasped her shoulders, pushing her forward more gently than she would have expected; suddenly and overwhelmingly curious, she let him lead her blindly toward the gilded mirror on the far wall of the entryway.

“You can open your eyes,” he said when they came to a stop, but the warm weight of his hands remained.

The necklace was – and she really couldn’t find another word for it – _dazzling_. An intricate web of diamonds fanned downward and outward from her throat, skimming the neckline of her dress and spanning nearly the full length of her collarbone. It was fastened not with a clasp but with a bow, so that as Esmé turned this way and that, admiring the way the stones caught the light, the sleek black ribbon brushed against the bare skin of her back.

“You have the certificate of authentication, I assume?” she asked, determined not to let him off too easily.

“Of course.” Olaf pressed closer, his body lean and lithe and solid against hers. “They’re genuine,” he continued, reaching around to trail his fingers over the glittering strands. “Every. Single. One.”

“What about the setting?”

His breath tickled the shell of her ear. “Platinum.”

“Mm. And the clarity?”

He caught her eye in the mirror, blue on black, and held her gaze for a moment before lowering his head. “ _Flawless_ ,” he growled against her neck, and when the heat of his breath gave way to the heat of his lips, Esmé decided she might be in the mood to let him off easily after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was requested by an anonymous Tumblr user.


End file.
